


Islands in the Stream

by unseenbox



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Awkward First Times, Dramatic Irony, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Minor Partygoing OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseenbox/pseuds/unseenbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Mary meet at a house party. If they stop getting interrupted, anyway. Oh, and there's a quickie in the coatroom, which goes about as well as can be expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Islands in the Stream

James walked across the street from where he parked the car, fiddling with the keys in his coat pocket. Some of the neighbors still had Halloween decorations up. A spider web here, a fake gravestone there. The chill got in early this year, and some of the other guests unwound scarves on the doorstep. He took a breath, feeling a pen he stole from work with his thumb as he reached the sidewalk. Why did he come here? He should’ve told Bill across the cubicle that no, he had plans, he couldn’t attend, he was sorry. 

Yet, here he was. Winter coat in concession to the cold, thrumb of nervous energy beneath his feet, and a house party on the other side of the front door. Two others -- he didn’t know them-- got there first, exchanged greetings, then walked into the warmth. Left alone on the stoop with his thoughts, but only for a moment, because that’s when Bill noticed him. Glasses guarding eyes like beetles, a red sweater concealing the results of a high school football career gone south, and a grin that split his face in half, that was Bill. 

“Sunderland! You made it!” A clap on the back. It got a puzzled expression in return.

“It’s not,” the words fled him, so he started over, saying, “it’s not really that surprising, right?”

“Are you kidding? I thought I’d never see you out of the office!” Another clap, and a laugh to go with it. Was he laughing at him? With him? He couldn’t tell. His hand remained extended in an attempt at a handshake that went ignored. 

“Well, I guess you have now.” James tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat. At least he finally remembered to pull his hand back down. It didn’t seem to matter, as Bill dropped his hand off his back. 

“Come on, you can’t stay out here all night,” he said. He stepped back a little, ushering him in. The lights were on inside the house and James could hear music from here. He shuffled across the welcome mat as if his feet were made of lead. Inside the main room, the couches were pushed together to make enough room for a dance floor and glittering keyboards trilled from the radio. He glanced back at Bill, currently in the process of removing a jello mold from the next guest’s hands.

“Where do I put my coat?” He stopped halfway in his attempt at shucking it off. 

Bill waved him off with his free hand, not bothering to turn around. “Spare room next to the stairs, can’t miss it.” 

“Thanks,” he said to no one.

About a dozen people crowded the main room. He pushed past them, and sure enough, the door behind the staircase let out into a makeshift coat room. It must’ve normally pulled time as a storage closet, as things like beach chairs, a fishing pole, and an old vacuum cleaner lined the walls. In the center was a bed with an already growing pile of coats spread out on top of it. He added his to the collection and went on his way, closing the door behind him. 

What next? Maybe a drink. Not that he needed one, not that badly. In the name of socialization, though, there was no point in cutting against the grain. He’d drown his nerves in a cup of beer, and that’d be that. The song on the radio changed to something bright and poppy, as he wandered around the first floor of the house in search of a sign. He found it in the form of red cups, which lead him to a dining room with a snack table set up. A crudité platter where the carrots and broccoli went untouched, some bowls filled with chips and dip, a few different jello molds, a keg in the corner on a chair, nothing special about any of it. Nearby was a cooler, and opening the lid revealed beer in bottles and cans.

James grabbed one of the cans and popped the tab open. He turned around, about to leave, when he noticed a girl walk in and stopped in his tracks. She wore a skirt that reached her knees, and then he looked up and saw the rest of her. She was talking with, he guessed, her friends, and she smiled around words he couldn’t hear. Softly. She had brownish hair in a… sort of… ponytail thing? The hairstyle’s name escaped him. Didn’t matter. The party faded away into background noise, low murmurs and bass that didn’t match the thrum in his heart. He’d never seen her before. How had he never seen her before? 

The next thing he knew, his feet had propelled him forward, so that he stood outside the conversation circle. The can in his hand dripped condensation. He didn’t notice. He could’ve dropped it on the floor, sending suds everywhere, and he wouldn’t have noticed. 

“Do you know Bill?” he asked. He only realized he said it when her friends looked back at him with question marks written on their faces. She wore one, too, but the smile hadn’t faded yet. He opened his mouth to take it back, quickly, before a frown could spread, but it was too late.

“I met him in high school. Why do you want to know?” The light caught a necklace and shine in her eyes.

“It’s nothing important, I’ve just never seen you around before, and I… I was wondering if I should know you from... somewhere.” He swallowed around the lump of peanut butter that felt like it was sitting in his throat. He could feel a flush growing on his cheeks, too, but he tried to ignore it, unsuccessfully. 

“Don’t worry, you’re in the clear. I’d think I’d remember somebody like you.” She sounded… maybe he was imagining things, but she sounded like she was… laughing but not out loud? One of her hands slid from around her middle to rest on her hip, and the other went lax against her skirt.

“Oh, that’s… that’s good.” He laughed, a strangled thing. “I wouldn’t want to forget you, either, I’m… well, I’m pretty sure.” He looked away from her, down at his shoes, the laces untied. 

“Do I really make that much of an impression?” More puzzled. He didn’t dare look up, not yet. A pause large enough to swallow China, and then she spoke again. “I mean, it’s kind of you to say, but we don’t really know each other yet.” He closed his eyes, a weight in the pit of his stomach, but it didn’t have time to settle in the wake of a tiny voice that said: Yet? He glanced up, afraid to see her gone, but she still stood there, a hand playing with her hair. 

“Maybe… maybe we could do that… uh, you know, get to know each other?” Hope made a small smile bloom and sent a tremor up his hand, extended into no man’s land.

“This guy’s creeping me out. Come on, let’s go,” one of her friends whispered in the kind of voice that suggested she wanted him to hear it. She pulled on her sleeve, pink with flowers, and steered her away onto the dance floor as the others broke away from the wall. “I’ll see you around,” one of them said, and he couldn’t bring himself to believe it was her.

“Why’d you interrupt?!” It came out louder than he meant, arms extended and spilling beer on the floor, but it didn’t matter because they vanished into the crowd.

He didn’t even know her name. That’s what made him decide that he had to find her again, more than anything. 

“Hey, you gonna move any time today?” came a voice from behind him. James looked back and saw someone balancing a plate of food on top of a can.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” James scooched back from the doorway, letting the man through. He looked down at the can he held, and could see an imprint from where he gripped it too hard. A little time to himself, to regroup, that wouldn’t hurt, right? Besides, there couldn’t be more than thirty people here. He’d catch up with her soon enough. He stepped back into the dining room and filled up a paper plate with vegetables and chips. 

Time passed like a snail. He speared another wayward carrot on his fork with as much vehemence as he could muster. A ring of water formed on the table around the half-empty can of beer. A couple took up the seats across from him and discussed Thanksgiving plans or something, he wasn’t paying attention. The radio played a song full of guitar solos and key changes. He brushed some flyaway hair out of his eyes and chewed around the carrots that tasted like nothing. 

“Oh, I thought you might be here.” He looked up bewildered, but by the time he did, she moved to sit next to him. Her again. From this close, he could see the paint on her nails and the crinkles around her eyes when she smiled. “You don’t mind if I sit down, do you?” 

“No, no, no, of course I don’t,” he coughed out, pulling his seat back a little, in case she needed more room. “Uh, what happened to… those other girls you were with?” 

“You mean my friends?” She took a sip out of a red cup. “Well, they were having a lot of fun dancing, but I wanted a break so I came in here.” She pushed some of the food around her plate with her fork. Maybe it was the light, but he could’ve sworn she was blushing. “Good thing, huh, or I don’t know if I’d have ran into you again.” 

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he took a drink instead. Eventually, he came up with, “You were-- wait, were you looking for me? But we only just talked a bit ago…” 

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Her crossed legs swayed slightly. “But I feel like... there’s something drawing us together, the kind of thing that can only happen at parties like this.” She shook her head, and her hair went with the motion. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I’m making any sense.”

“You’d have to do way more than that to not make sense to me,” he blurted out. He shuffled his hair again, hoping it would shake the thick cottony fog out of his head. “Uh, I mean… forget I said anything.” She laughed into her cup. Softly, but echoing. “James, my name is James.” Before anything else happened. Before whatever spell she claimed to be under broke, and she walked away.

“Mary, Mary Shepherd.” Her hand reached across the gaps of their chairs for his, so he held it. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. He couldn’t seem to make himself stop. Mary. Her name was Mary. He repeated it in his head a dozen times in the vague, blossoming hope that he wouldn’t forget it and wouldn’t need a reason to. 

“I was,” he sighed, “I was going to look for you. If you, uh, didn’t find me first.” He couldn’t meet her gaze, so he dropped it to where their shoes overlapped beneath them. 

“I think I’m happy I did.” She sounded it, and scuffed her shoe against where his met the hem of his jeans. 

When he looked up, she was there. Close, too close. He couldn’t see anything besides the smile that turned up the corners of her lips, the strands of hair that escaped the ponytail, the necklace that rested not far from her heart. He didn’t see why he would want to. Dimly, he was aware the party continued around them, a hum of music and drink and abandoned jello molds, but it all seemed so distant, like the space between their chairs was the only real thing in the world.

“Mary…” His other hand reached for where her neck met her jaw. Her hand moved against his wrist, pushing at his sleeve. He squeezed her hand, as softly as he could manage, where it lay against his knee. “Stop me if I’m making a mistake.” 

When he kissed her, her lips tasted like chapstick. Cherry flavored, maybe, something chalky. A slight hum went through them, and something dizzying that sent his vision spinning until he was forced to close his eyes. Her nose bumped against his, and when she breathed he felt it on his cheek. He broke away, just a moment, stuck there with only her hands to steadying him, but then she met him again and it felt like the first day of spring. Awake and alive. She slid her hand from his wrist to his shoulder, scrunching at fabric as she went. He could feel the thrum of her pulse under his palm, the shell of her ear against his thumb. 

She murmured something and it sounded like his name. Blood spiked in his veins, warmth pooling low in his gut. He pulled back a moment in the too cloying air. Opening his eyes took effort, like waking up. Would he blink and find himself alone? Then he saw her and remembered all at once he wasn’t dreaming. Her eyes were still closed, but color bloomed high on her cheeks. Her lipstick seemed smudged and he thought he might have some on his. At some point, James had no idea when, she abandoned holding his hand in favor of hooking a finger lightly through one of his belt loops. She escaped her own haze and when her eyes opened, they were bright and shining and beautiful. He went to reel her in again.

A crashing noise splintered across the room, sharp and high. They split apart as if being tugged from behind by a rope, looking for the cause like the others gathered around. A broken beer bottle seemed to be the culprit, and a frantic guest grabbed paper towels in an attempt to salvage the situation. From far off, James could hear someone clapping. All at once, the party came crashing back into reality instead of existing in some vague fog. His hands dropped, one ending up flopped against his knee and the other fell from her shoulder to her wrist. Mary pulled back to her own chair, still hooking an ankle around his but no longer sharing the same space. 

She spoke first. “So, I guess this is one way to spend a party, huh?” That tone was back, the laughing one. He glanced at the long abandoned plates and cups on the table, running his free hand through his hair.

“I don’t usually go to things like these.” He picked up the can, looked through the lid, and set it back down. Probably flat by now. 

“Is there a reason you came to this one?” Her eyebrow raised with the question.

“No, not really.” He sighed, drumming his fingers against his lap. “Bill… I know him from work, and when he invited me… I kind of said yes without really thinking about it.” He turned his gaze to the floor, a slump in his shoulders.

“Well, maybe you were meant to come here.” He looked back up again, and saw her playing with her necklace, running the pendant up and down the chain. He tried not to look where it rested against her collarbones. 

“Wait, what does that mean?” His shoulders straightened up as he asked.

“Nothing, really.” She stopped fiddling with her necklace and held it loosely instead. She looked out towards the main room, lost in the crowd. “It’s all chance, when you meet new people. And sometimes, even though you’re strangers, it feels like maybe you’ve already known them for years. So I’m glad you’re here, James.” Her voice picked up a warble, which she brushed aside along with her hair. “Just think,” and here she looked back at him, smiling again, “I’d still be out there with my friends if you weren’t.” 

“Oh.” More of a shape than a sound. Her pulse beat calmly under the hand still on her wrist. His skin felt clammy. He picked at the fabric of his jeans with his spare hand. “I think I understand.” He tried to reach words that skittered away from him. “Sorry about, uh, when I talked to you before. I… I think I bothered one of them? Or... something, anyway.” 

“Oh, that’s just Karen.” She shook her head at some private joke. “She’s always trying to look out for me, but she can be a little... much, sometimes.”

“She’s not gonna be… mad about this?”

“I think she’ll get over it.” Mary grinned brightly.

“Hey, are you using these?” James blinked up at the woman behind him trying to hold three red cups at the same time. She looked like she wanted to tap her foot from impatience but doubted her grip on the drinks enough to try. 

“Uh, no, I guess you can have them.” He shuffled out of his chair and stood up, shooting an apologetic look to Mary. What else could he do? She followed him up, carefully pushing her seat back just in time for a different man to snatch it up. They stepped back until they stood near the wall separating the snacks from the dance floor. He braced himself against a counter top. She squeezed in next to him, hogging the corner. Their arms just barely touched, enough to send little static shocks up and down his sleeves. 

“It’s alright. They’re just chairs,” she whispered. Low enough he doubted anyone else heard it. She slid a hand under his and he gripped it, fingers interwoven. He could feel the warmth of her body against his side, the rise and fall of her chest when she breathed, the curve of her hip hidden by cotton. He leaned into her, a movement made difficult because of his height, resting his head on her shoulder. Music from the other room washed over him. He closed his eyes. What would happen tomorrow? Would he see her again? He had to make sure. 

“Hey. Mary?” She shifted against him, a small nod. “Do you… have a pen?” He could imagine her brows raising in confusion, so he forced himself to continue on. “I… can I get your number?”

“Of course, James.” He opened his eyes again to see her wide grin fade into a small frown. “I don’t think I have a pen, though.”

He did. The memory bolted back to him like he’d been shocked. He pictured them clear as a photograph, almost felt the weight in his hands. “Wait, wait, I… I had one in my coat, I can go get it!” He peeled apart from her, ignoring the puzzled looks being thrown at him from all directions, and made a break for the coat room. He heard the clatter of shoes behind him, but he kept going. It took until he reached the door for Mary to put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back a step with her arm loosely coiled around his elbow. When she spoke, he had trouble hearing her over the music.

“We have all the time in the world, you know,” Mary said, that teasing tone returning.

He knew. He just didn’t care. “Well, I’d really like it to move a bit faster right now,” he said, and then he pushed the door open.

A ceiling fan whirred overhead as he closed the door behind them. The lights were on, dim and yellow. The shades blocked the view outside the window, though he could see headlights when cars drove past in the dark. Purses piled up on a chair by the window. The collection of coats had grown over the course of the night, and now he could only see the sleeve of his own under the weight of them all. He moved toward the bed, stubbing his toe on a box in the process, and picked at the hats and scarves. 

“It should be here somewhere….” For a moment he fluttered uselessly, trying to think of where to put the load of mismatched clothes, before setting them down on top of a folded up lounge chair in the corner. He turned back to the coats, seeing Mary sorting through them on the other side of the bed. 

“Which one is it?” She bent over to place a few of them up against the pillow. Her necklace dangled in the air, and if he looked past that, he could see down her shirt-- he turned his head away, coughing. She looked right up at him, saying, “Are you okay?” and he waved her off, hoping she couldn’t see the flush on his face from here. 

“Uh, it’s the green one. Kind of in the middle.” He gestured vaguely at the bit of sleeve poking out. He risked a glance back in her direction. Big mistake. Her hands smoothed over a coat as she placed it with the others, and all he could picture were those same hands running over him. Unbuttoning his jeans, sliding them down, and gripping his--- Baseball. It was never more imperative that he think of baseball. Box scores, too. Anything to stop blood from flowing south directly to his cock. 

It seemed a doomed effort. Just the gap between her skirt and her skin proved tantalizing, especially when she braced a leg against the bed as she sorted the pile, sending the fabric scrunching. He pinwheeled a few coats off to the chair, and if they landed on the floor, well, whoever owned them would just have to deal with it later. He reached for the next one, only three or so blocking his now, and her hand sparked against his. He pulled back as if he’d been shot, tracing his eyes up her form. She sat on the bed now, legs folded beneath her. Passing headlights framed her face and shielded her eyes. He bumped his knee against the bedframe, and then she grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. He stood unbalanced, leaning forward, until they met in the middle. 

Her hands gripped his collar, fingernails pressed lightly against his neck. He slid a hand down her side until he reached her hip, thumbing the skin under the hem of her shirt. His other hand braced himself on the bed, somewhere behind her, he didn’t care where. God, he was getting hard. His jeans already felt too tight. If she noticed-- how could she not notice?-- she didn’t say, just pressed against him so she could lean up and whisper, “Come on, James. Let’s live a little,” into his ear. She kissed him there, a flutter, before pulling back, smiling. His hand clenched against the bed, and then he kissed her so hard he bowled them over.

The remaining coats got pushed aside haphazardly, falling to the floor and over the other end and who knows where else, James didn’t care. For a moment, her knees bunched up against his jeans. She slid down so they dangled uselessly over the side of the bed, himself between them. She still had her shoes on, a fact which became apparent when she hooked a heel around the back of his leg. He spluttered around nothing. He split away to gulp down air, but saw the gleam in her eyes and couldn’t bring himself not to kiss her again and again until they blended into one. One of her hands caressed his neck, and the other gripped his back.

He slid his hand down her hip until it reached her knee. He hiked up her skirt, catching the fabric between his fingers, feeling the soft curve of her thigh. Her nails dug into his back. “Mary, what… what do you want me to do?” he asked in between breaths. His other hand brushed the hair out of her eyes.

“I don’t know, anything.” She bit her lip as she spoke. Her shoe dug into his leg. He could see the rise and fall of her chest when she inhaled, the heave against the fabric penning them in, her pendant bunched up against her neck. He needed to do something about this jean situation before he lost feeling in his junk. As he unzipped them, her hand fell away from his back and gripped his belt loops. Oh. 

“Just… just hold on.” He thumbed her inner thigh, hooking into the edge of her underwear. He moved to slide them down, getting stuck on the jut of her hip. She arched back, pulling him closer by the boxers as she made her way to unbutton them. The fabric hid nothing, he knew, but her fingers hovered near the outline in them, pink nailpolish and all. He blurted, “But I don’t… I don’t have--” 

She kissed him, sharply, hand on his cheek. “I think… I think we’ll manage.” Just then the button popped open, and she wrapped her hand around the head of him. Squeezing, a little too-- 

“Too much-- uh, just-- up and down-- like that--” Oh, god, this wasn’t going to last long. He rushed pulling her underwear out of the way and they ended up still hidden by the skirt, somewhere on her thighs, it didn’t matter. He brushed his hand up to the apex of her thighs, and wetness clung to his thumb as he pressed it against her. She choked on thin air, or sounded like it, so he did it again, the hand near his neck scruffing his hair.

“Faster, go faster, James.” Her hand went slack against his shaft, but only for a moment. She ran her palm up to the head, eased by the slick, and then she reached the tip of it and circled and when he heard his name, he was gone. His last conscious thought was of pulling back, just a step, the familiar white-clear goop smearing on the floor instead of on her skirt. 

His knees buckled, and he slumped against her, boneless. She let out an ‘oof’ and gave him a small shove, so he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Sorry, I probably should’ve…” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“Please, just keep going. Please, I’m--” she cut herself off, squeezing her legs together, and he got the idea. The fog hadn’t entirely cleared, but he wasn’t so useless he couldn’t move his fingers. He could do that much. He rubbed against the button with his thumb, and slid a finger into her, until she clenched around him and more wetness spilled out. Her hands went slack against him, he pulled his own back, and for a long, hanging moment, he closed his eyes and thought of nothing.

Until the door flung open and the person at it shouted, “Seriously?!” James stood up quickly enough that he almost lost his pants around his knees until he hoisted them up himself. Mary handed him the pillow from behind them and he held it against him. She hid herself with the first coat she grabbed, then hid her face in her hands. “Can’t a guy just get their coat without walking into a reenactment of senior prom?!” He stormed in, grabbed a scarf and one of the coats on the lounge chair with a huff. “The nerve of some people!” he muttered as he slammed the door behind him.

Mary stared at the door, then broke out laughing into the coat. James busied himself by zipping up his fly and making eye contact with the dresser. The box of tissues sitting on top of it came in very handy, he had to admit. It took until Mary fixed her hair back into something resembling the original ponytail for him to wake up. “Wait, didn’t we come in here for a pen?” 

“You know, I think so?”

Sure enough, he found his coat on the floor by the window, red pen in the pocket. He passed the pen off to her, and a smile quirked up as she wrote her name and a string of seven digits on his palm. 

“There you go.” She glanced up at a clock on the wall. “I should probably get back out there and find my friends. I’ll see you later, James.” She waved at him as she walked out the door, closing it behind her.

James sat back on the edge of the bed and stared at the letters on his hand until they blurred together, a faint smile on his face.


End file.
